


Gifts Of Time And Love

by Jac_Danvers



Category: Lost
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Flash Sideways Verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6204133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jac_Danvers/pseuds/Jac_Danvers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles really screwed up when he forgot to introduce Dan and Charlotte. Good thing Naomi loves him anyway. Now they have to fall in love by Christmas or risk being trapped in the Sideways-verse... for good. Charladay</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction: December 20

**Author's Note:**

> So one of my New Years resolutions this year was to go back and finish a story that's been sitting on my profile for eons. And in flipping back through some of my stories, I rediscovered this little fic that I started back in Christmas 2010 for the Lost Secret Santa Exchange (Sorry Dr. Giggles for never finishing your story!). I started writing this just ahead of my comprehensive exam in grad school, which is basically an exam you prepare for for about 3 months before you have to go in front of a committee and answer rapid fire questions for three hours (super fun!). If you pass, you become a PhD candidate (which I did do! huzzah!). 
> 
> Anyways, it's been revamped a bit so hopefully the writing styles from 2010 and now match up, and it's definitely after Christmas, but enjoy!

**Introduction**

**December 20 th **

_"Gifts of time and love are surely the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas"_

-Peg Bracken

 

“I cannot bloody believe you!”

 

“Aw, Mi, c’mon. Gimme a break here! How was I supposed to know they didn’t have their big revelation? Miles Chang whined, shrugging off his black leather jacket and tossing it haphazardly on the back of the sofa.

 

How many minute had passed since he walked through the door? He was certain it was less than two. Possibly two seconds, knowing how Naomi got when somebody pissed her off.

 

And she was definitely pissed off.

 

It didn’t help that it had been a long day down at the station, where he’d been pulling double shifts since James had moved on. Not to mention dealing with his _delight_ of a new partner, Ana Lucia – oh yeah, now there was a sparkling personality if he’d ever seen one.

 

And it wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong.

 

Alright, so maybe he’d screwed this one up _ever so slightly._ But really, he and Linus had set everything into motion. Everything. The plan had been arranged down to the very minute of their first encounter, even seemingly minor details accounted for. There was no earthly (or purgatorial, or heavenly) way those two could blow it.

 

Then again, it _was_ Daniel and Charlotte they were speaking of.

 

Having had the pleasure of knowing both their real life and after life selves, this whole fiasco shouldn’t have come as a surprise. They were as dense and oblivious in this world as they had been in the last.

 

Across the room, Naomi scoffed, eyes rolling back into her head and she shook a stiletto heel at him. “How were you supposed to know? How were _you_ supposed to _know_? Gee, I don’t know you stupid wanker. Normally it’s a pretty big revelation, realizing you’re DEAD! Christ, how did I get stuck spending my afterlife with an idiot?”

 

“You fell in love with my dashing good looks? Heroic afterlife career choice? Awesome real life super ghost talking powers?”

 

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he found himself dodging the black stiletto that had been in his girlfriend-slash-soulmates hand.

  

"You. Are. Not. Helping."

 

"I live to serve," he said with a faux bow.

 

“Should have chucked you overboard when we were on the Kahana. Would have saved me the trouble of having a crush on you. Now I’m stuck with you for all bloody eternity.”

 

He smirked. Miles couldn’t help the satisfaction that overtook him whenever Naomi hinted at her true feelings for him. She loathed admitting she was anything other than a tough girl – in death, just as in real life. But somehow their relationship had thrived since their first encounter, when he pulled her over for road rage and subsequently arrested her for assaulting an officer.

 

Whoever said there was no romance in jail had clearly never met Miles Chang and Naomi Dorrit.

 

“You could have done that, but then where would you be?” he said over his shoulder, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his dress shirt as he headed for the master bathroom. Days like today required a good, long shower, followed by an ice cold beer.

 

"Still dead, likely with a more intelligent companion. Now, would you kindly explain how the hell you're going to fix this?"

 

"Jesus, Naomi, I'll take care of it. It's not like we're on a schedule here." He chucked his dress shirt haphazardly at the hamper. It missed.

 

"Actually..." she started, picking the shirt, and wringing it in her hands.

 

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, stealing his best friend and former partner's catch phrase. "What happened 'Mi?"

 

"Ben Linus called today."

 

Flopping backwards onto the bed, he covered his eyes. God he didn't want to ask, didn't want to know. "What did Ol' Bug Eyes want?"

 

"Illana and Bram had their moment," she replied tersely.

 

"So?"

 

"So? So? That means Dan and Charlotte are the  _only_  holdouts on moments of revelation."

 

"Your point?"

 

Not like Miles had to ask. The sinking pit of dread in his stomach pretty much summed up Naomi's next words.

 

"The time is set, Miles. That's what Linus called to tell us. There's a time set, and we're crossing over. And if Dan and Charlotte aren't there, that's it. They missed their chance." Worry lines crisscrossed her face, and Miles could feel the guilt overtaking him. Naomi just didn’t get this worried or upset, it just didn’t happen. Besides, Dan and Charlotte, despite being horrible screwed up and completely mental, were the two people he could depend on during their time on Craphole Island. They had his back more than once.  He couldn’t abandon them here.

 

Damn he’d really screwed this up.

 

"Shiiiiit... how long do I have?"

 

"’Til Christmas."

 

He sprang from the bed, his back aching from the sudden movement. “Shit, Mi. That gives me five days at the most. Dan’s still pining for Theresa and Charlotte’s convinced she’s future spinster material. How the hell am I going to make them fall in love, much less regain the memories of their past lives in five friggen’ days?”

 

“Perhaps by getting up off your bloody ass and finding them? Because for some God awful reason, when I move on to whatever comes next, I’d prefer to have you and your incredibly dense self accompanying me. And that’s not gonna happen if you don’t fix this.”

 

She turned away from him, heading for their bathroom. She gripped the door handle before turning back to him, staring him down. “Well? Move!”

 

Grabbing a clean t-shirt and his jacket, he headed for the door, for once in his (after) life heeding Naomi’s advice.

 

_How the hell am I gonna get myself out of this one?_

 


	2. December 21st

**December 21st**

 

“Where are you going?” Naomi called over her shoulder. Miles’s reflection in the television had skewed her view of the _Happy Days_ rerun she had been watching. Waiting for his answer, she ate another scoop of chocolate brownie ice cream.

 

And therein lay the beauty of death – calories didn’t count.

 

Well – that, and being stuck for all eternity with the love of her life. And she did love Miles Chang. Though you’d have to beat that admission out of her.

 

“Taking Dan out for drinks.”

 

“And how, pray tell, does Charlotte play into all this?”

 

He grinned, taking a seat next to her as he put on his dress shoes. “I’m gonna get them drunk and convince them that hooking up is a great idea.”

 

“That’s a terrible idea,” she interjected with a roll of her eyes. Even though she’d spent less time with the two lovebirds on the island, no thanks to John Locke and her untimely death, she apparently knew them better than her perpetually clueless boyfriend.

 

“No, no, no, hear me out! I’ll get Dan drink then bring him to the museum. We’ll convince Charlotte to come out with us, they’ll get to know each other, blah, blah, blah then BOOM! Everyone’s enlightened and moving on.”

 

She shook her head. “Terrible, terrible idea.”

 

He scoffed. “Watch and Learn, Mi. Watch and learn.”

 

Slipping his wallet in his back pocket, he headed out the door. With a shake of her head, she turned up the volume and lost herself in Fonzi and Richie, wondering how long it would be before she had to drag a completely pissed Miles to bed.

 

OOO

 

“You’ve reached Theresa Spencer. I’m not available to take your call. Please leave a message after the tone.”

 

Answering machine. What a surprise. Not.

 

 _Might as well leave a message. Again._ Silently, Daniel Widmore wondered when it ceased qualifying as pathetic desperation to get her back and started qualifying as stalking.

 

At the other end of the line, the beep sounded, granting him permission to speak. He paused momentarily, wondering if he was actually going to do this. If he really had the balls to leave his – what? fifth, sixth, eighty-ninth? – message on her answering machine.

 

Yes. Yes he was.

 

“Theresa? Theresa, it’s Dan-”

 

There was a click on the other end of the line. He leaped off the piano bench, unable to contain his excitement as a victorious feeling rushed over him. For the first time in over a week since Theresa had unceremoniously dumped him, she had picked up. Finally, she had come to her sense and realized that she didn’t want to date a rock god. Finally she realized that a classical pianist was enough. She was going to beg him to take her back, he could just feel it.

 

“Daniel?”

 

“Theresa… um… uh… hi?”

 

In the moment, words escaped him. What the hell had he wanted to say?

 

Turns out he didn’t have to say anything at all.

 

“Daniel, this needs to stop. Now.” Her voice was firm, but he could hear the overtone of pity. “I thought you’d get the hint when I didn’t pick up, but clearly you didn’t. We’re over. Done. I still care for you, you have to know that, but you’re not what I want. I need adventure, a little unpredictability. And you’re… well…” She paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s not that you’re boring or anything. I swear. We just stagnated. And Liam gives me what I need.”

 

It hurt hearing her words. “Theresa, just give me a cha-”

 

Another loud sigh interrupted him “Dan, just… just stop apologizing, alright? I told you this isn’t your fault. It’s mine. And I don’t think my being in town is helping you to move on.”

  
“What do you mean?” he asked quietly, his stomach sinking.

 

“Can I be blunt? In the last week, you’ve called me forty-two times. Forty-two times, Daniel! You need to let go of us. I’m leaving LA, at least for a little while. Liam asked me to join him on the Driveshaft world tour and I agreed to go.”

 

The words hit him hard. Not as hard as he had expected them to, but still like a punch to the gut. How was it possible that she’d moved on from their four year relationship so quickly? Didn’t it mean anything?

 

The phone beeped at him again, making him jump in surprise. Glancing down at the screen, he saw his call waiting flashing. Miles. Grateful for an out, he turned his attention back to the phone, where Theresa was still talking.

 

“Dan are you still there?”

 

“No, I’m here. I hope you’re happy with him, Theresa, I really do.” He wanted out of this conversation before the two pieces of his broken heart were further smashed into oblivion. It was done. Over. He had to grow up and accept it.

 

“Dan-”

 

Without a goodbye, he hit the bound key. “Hey Miles.”

 

“Hey there Danny Boy! Tried your apartment but clearly you’re not there. Do not tell me you’re at the studio banging out more of that emo crap you’ve been so fond of lately.”

 

Caught in the act. That was exactly what he’d been doing before he gave into the urge to call her. Not that he’d admit it. Miles, his unlikely best friend since he was enrolled in his private elementary school, could read his mind.

 

"Christ, Romeo. Again? Dude, you are killing me. Listen. Don't move. I'm coming to get you and we're going out on the town, alright?" Dan made a move to protest. "No. No arguments. You need to get over that heartless bitch and I know just the way to do it."

OOO

Something was off.

 

Maybe she was sleep deprived – she had been pulling sixteen hour days at the museum lately – but as she wandered through the paleontology exhibit, Charlotte Lewis knew instinctively something was amiss. Eight PM and the museum was entirely still, save for herself and Frank Lapidus, the night guard. Not that she could chat with him if she wanted to. He was stationed at the opposite end of the building, in the tiny room behind the ticket desk where the security monitors were stored. And knowing good old Frank, at this point he’d probably had a night cap or two and was sound asleep.

 

Thank God Pierre had invested in a good alarm system. Otherwise she’d be the only defense the museum had against intruders in the early hours of the morning.

 

Trailing slowly through the exhibits, the only sound the steady _click, click_ of her high heels resonating through the marble halls, she gazed at the fossil displays. Nothing _seemed_ out of the ordinary. But honestly, her mind wasn’t completely set on the task at hand.  

 

Wrapping her cardigan around her as the air conditioning system switched on, she moved out of the dinosaur exhibit, passing _Homo habilis_ and _Homo erectus_ as she contemplated her next career move and the life she’d once known. Camping in the Egyptian desert, swimming in the Sumatran rain forest, hiking the Andes mountains – roughing it with the good old boys, who still were shocked that a girl could keep up with them, in search of her latest archaeological find. It was a bloody amazing existence, the one she’d dreamed of as a little girl. Yet she’d given it all up, at least for a time.

 

As she edged toward thirty, she found herself wanting more. A husband, a passel of kids. Not that she wanted to leave her career behind – no, she couldn’t imagine ever doing that. No, with the right man, under the right set of circumstances, Charlotte was convinced she could reconcile a life of global adventure with a family. Adventures were all well and good, but having someone to share the experience beyond the old academic curmudgeons? That would complete the dream.

 

But meeting men on the road was a complete and total failure. The competitive nature of archaeology, trying to beat each other to the newest find, made a relationship nigh on impossible. So she’d taken a break from active field work and joined the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History, heading up the Asian and Oceania antiquities exhibits. For three years she’d been satisfied with the change of scene, a job she loved, and a fantastic boss in Pierre Chang. His son Miles had been a faithful friend, her constant wing man as she played the field.

 

And though she’d dated a variety of men, none quite fulfilled the requirements for husband of Charlotte Lewis.

 

The familiar inkling was filling her again, the desire to hunt for new treasures, to get her name back into the papers and the journals, to contribute to the field again. Yet she hadn’t found what she was looking for. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach over the last few weeks, a slow realization that maybe the career she loved and the family she wanted couldn’t be reconciled.

 

 _It’s not bloody fair,_ she fumed over the injustice of it all. _Not blood fair at—_

_Bow ties?_

No, her eyes had not deceived her. Somehow, the Neanderthals in the glass case had been equipped with spears, loin clothes, and tasteful red satin bow ties. And there was not a doubt in her mind as to who was the culprit.

 

“CHANG!”

 

An almost girlish giggle resounded as her friend emerged from behind another case. His face was flushed, and as he sauntered to her side, Charlotte instantly knew that he’d had more than a few drinks. He was followed by a second man, blushing red in embarrassment, likely because he had to be seen in public with Miles. Unconventionally handsome with a quirky sense of fashion, he seemed harmless enough.

 

“Heyyyyyyyyyy Red! Knew I’d find you here!”

 

She snorted, though her annoyance quickly gave way to a smirk as she watched Miles sway back and forth, arms flailing to maintain his balance. “I’m so glad you’re stalking me Miles.”

 

“You make it easy! Apartment. Work. Work. Apartment. Yup, real hard to track you down. Have no fear, though. We came to rescue you!”

 

“Rescue me? More like make my life difficult. I’ll have to fix that display before I leave tonight, no thanks to you. I should have your father confiscate your keys to the building.”

 

The other man, silent up until this point, blushed an even deeper red. “We… we could help you fix it.”

 

Miles rolled his eyes. “Aw, c’mon Dan. Charlotte knows it’s all just for fun.” He turned back to her. “Dan just went through a rough breakup. Bitch of an ex-girlfriend ran off with the lead singer of Drive Shaft. I’m trying to end the pity party. And seeing how you’re always up to your elbows in work here and are in desperate need of a social life yourself, I figured we’d bring you along with us.”

 

With each consecutive work leaving Miles’s mouth, Dan’s face grew closer and closer to the shade of a ripe tomato. It was really sweet, in a way. She smiled at him gently. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend, Daniel. Breakups are always rough.”

 

“Not that she’d know. Charlotte’s been looking for a stable relationship for years now. Pretty much since she came to LA.”

 

She felt her face flame, possibly even brighter than Daniel’s. “I’m sorry, did you say you were going out drinking, or that you were already drunk?”

 

“I’m pretty sure he had a few before we met up tonight,” Dan said quickly. “And he brought a bottle of tequila to my studio to pregame. _And_ we stopped at happy hour on the way over. Honestly, he may have sobered up since we got here?”

 

They both turned to where a hiccupping Miles was straightening the Neanderthal’s bow tie.

 

“Or maybe not. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”

 

The laugh escaped her, despite her embarrassment at a total stranger knowing her LA dating history… or lack thereof.

 

“Miles _is_ a shameful lightweight.”

 

“Lies!” Miles shouted, a look of mock astonishment plastered on his face.

 

“We should probably call a cab for him. Naomi’s going to kill his sorry arse.”

 

“Nah, it’s alright,” Dan replied, waving his hand. “We’ve already caused enough trouble for you tonight. I’ll make sure he gets home. If you like, I can come back and help fix the display.”

 

“Awww, leave it. It looks good! Very Christmay. Festive!” Miles protested. He leaned heavily against the wall, slumping closer to the ground each minute.

 

“I think I’m going to take Mile’s Martha Stewart impersonation as our cue to leave.” Dan smiled sweetly at her before hauling Miles up on his shoulder. For a lean guy, he was surprisingly strong. Charlotte knew from experience that drunk Miles was all dead weight.

 

“You’ll be alright getting him to a cab?”

 

“Absolutely.” He paused briefly, looking at her with faint recognition. Have we met before, Charlotte?”

 

Her words took him by surprise, but after a careful study of his face, she had to agree that he looked familiar. “Yes… yes, I believe so. Briefly. At the museum benefit? You were playing with-“

 

“Driveshaft,” he completed the sentence, a look of sadness crossing his face. “Backstage, right before we went on. The bassist was passed out on the couch. Who would have thought… ah well, live and learn, right? It was nice meeting you again Charlotte.” 

 

“You too, Dan,” she replied, watching as he dragged Miles toward the front door. Once she heard the tell-tale creak of the back doors echo through the hallway, she headed back to the Neanderthals.

 

Opening the display case, she heard footsteps behind her. “Still here, Char?” Frank asked, voice groggy from his midnight nap. His arms were crossed in mock dismay.

 

“Where else?”

 

“Oooh bow ties. Nice touch. Very classy. Who knew the Neanderthals were such fashionistas?”

 

Laughing loudly, she removed one of the bow ties and tossed it to Frank. “Since you like it so much…”

 

“Don’t mind if I do!” He fixed the bow tie around his neck, gazing at his reflection in the glass case as he straightened it. “Now finish up here and get the hell out, Charlotte. You don’t get out nearly as much as you should.”

 

“I will. Don’t you worry,” she promised sincerely.

 

_Just as soon as I finish these guys. And make sure that Miles didn’t destroy anything else. And read that journal article…_

Yeah, it was definitely time to get back in the field.

 

“Where are you going?” Naomi called over her shoulder. Miles’s reflection in the television had skewed her view of the _Happy Days_ rerun she had been watching. Waiting for his answer, she ate another scoop of chocolate brownie ice cream.

 

And therein lay the beauty of death – calories didn’t count.

 

Well – that, and being stuck for all eternity with the love of her life. And she did love Miles Chang. Though you’d have to beat that admission out of her.

 

“Taking Dan out for drinks.”

 

“And how, pray tell, does Charlotte play into all this?”

 

He grinned, taking a seat next to her as he put on his dress shoes. “I’m gonna get them drunk and convince them that hooking up is a great idea.”

 

“That’s a terrible idea,” she interjected with a roll of her eyes. Even though she’d spent less time with the two lovebirds on the island, no thanks to John Locke and her untimely death, she apparently knew them better than her perpetually clueless boyfriend.

 

“No, no, no, hear me out! I’ll get Dan drink then bring him to the museum. We’ll convince Charlotte to come out with us, they’ll get to know each other, blah, blah, blah then BOOM! Everyone’s enlightened and moving on.”

 

She shook her head. “Terrible, terrible idea.”

 

He scoffed. “Watch and Learn, Mi. Watch and learn.”

 

Slipping his wallet in his back pocket, he headed out the door. With a shake of her head, she turned up the volume and lost herself in Fonzi and Richie, wondering how long it would be before she had to drag a completely pissed Miles to bed.

 

OOO

 

“You’ve reached Theresa Spencer. I’m not available to take your call. Please leave a message after the tone.”

 

Answering machine. What a surprise. Not.

 

 _Might as well leave a message. Again._ Silently, Daniel Widmore wondered when it ceased qualifying as pathetic desperation to get her back and started qualifying as stalking.

 

At the other end of the line, the beep sounded, granting him permission to speak. He paused momentarily, wondering if he was actually going to do this. If he really had the balls to leave his – what? fifth, sixth, eighty-ninth? – message on her answering machine.

 

Yes. Yes he was.

 

“Theresa? Theresa, it’s Dan-”

 

There was a click on the other end of the line. He leaped off the piano bench, unable to contain his excitement as a victorious feeling rushed over him. For the first time in over a week since Theresa had unceremoniously dumped him, she had picked up. Finally, she had come to her sense and realized that she didn’t want to date a rock god. Finally she realized that a classical pianist was enough. She was going to beg him to take her back, he could just feel it.

 

“Daniel?”

 

“Theresa… um… uh… hi?”

 

In the moment, words escaped him. What the hell had he wanted to say?

 

Turns out he didn’t have to say anything at all.

 

“Daniel, this needs to stop. Now.” Her voice was firm, but he could hear the overtone of pity. “I thought you’d get the hint when I didn’t pick up, but clearly you didn’t. We’re over. Done. I still care for you, you have to know that, but you’re not what I want. I need adventure, a little unpredictability. And you’re… well…” She paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s not that you’re boring or anything. I swear. We just stagnated. And Liam gives me what I need.”

 

It hurt hearing her words. “Theresa, just give me a cha-”

 

Another loud sigh interrupted him “Dan, just… just stop apologizing, alright? I told you this isn’t your fault. It’s mine. And I don’t think my being in town is helping you to move on.”

  
“What do you mean?” he asked quietly, his stomach sinking.

 

“Can I be blunt? In the last week, you’ve called me forty-two times. Forty-two times, Daniel! You need to let go of us. I’m leaving LA, at least for a little while. Liam asked me to join him on the Driveshaft world tour and I agreed to go.”

 

The words hit him hard. Not as hard as he had expected them to, but still like a punch to the gut. How was it possible that she’d moved on from their four year relationship so quickly? Didn’t it mean anything?

 

The phone beeped at him again, making him jump in surprise. Glancing down at the screen, he saw his call waiting flashing. Miles. Grateful for an out, he turned his attention back to the phone, where Theresa was still talking.

 

“Dan are you still there?”

 

“No, I’m here. I hope you’re happy with him, Theresa, I really do.” He wanted out of this conversation before the two pieces of his broken heart were further smashed into oblivion. It was done. Over. He had to grow up and accept it.

 

“Dan-”

 

Without a goodbye, he hit the bound key. “Hey Miles.”

 

“Hey there Danny Boy! Tried your apartment but clearly you’re not there. Do not tell me you’re at the studio banging out more of that emo crap you’ve been so fond of lately.”

 

Caught in the act. That was exactly what he’d been doing before he gave into the urge to call her. Not that he’d admit it. Miles, his unlikely best friend since he was enrolled in his private elementary school, could read his mind.

 

"Christ, Romeo. Again? Dude, you are killing me. Listen. Don't move. I'm coming to get you and we're going out on the town, alright?" Dan made a move to protest. "No. No arguments. You need to get over that heartless bitch and I know just the way to do it."

OOO

Something was off.

 

Maybe she was sleep deprived – she had been pulling sixteen hour days at the museum lately – but as she wandered through the paleontology exhibit, Charlotte Lewis knew instinctively something was amiss. Eight PM and the museum was entirely still, save for herself and Frank Lapidus, the night guard. Not that she could chat with him if she wanted to. He was stationed at the opposite end of the building, in the tiny room behind the ticket desk where the security monitors were stored. And knowing good old Frank, at this point he’d probably had a night cap or two and was sound asleep.

 

Thank God Pierre had invested in a good alarm system. Otherwise she’d be the only defense the museum had against intruders in the early hours of the morning.

 

Trailing slowly through the exhibits, the only sound the steady _click, click_ of her high heels resonating through the marble halls, she gazed at the fossil displays. Nothing _seemed_ out of the ordinary. But honestly, her mind wasn’t completely set on the task at hand.  

 

Wrapping her cardigan around her as the air conditioning system switched on, she moved out of the dinosaur exhibit, passing _Homo habilis_ and _Homo erectus_ as she contemplated her next career move and the life she’d once known. Camping in the Egyptian desert, swimming in the Sumatran rain forest, hiking the Andes mountains – roughing it with the good old boys, who still were shocked that a girl could keep up with them, in search of her latest archaeological find. It was a bloody amazing existence, the one she’d dreamed of as a little girl. Yet she’d given it all up, at least for a time.

 

As she edged toward thirty, she found herself wanting more. A husband, a passel of kids. Not that she wanted to leave her career behind – no, she couldn’t imagine ever doing that. No, with the right man, under the right set of circumstances, Charlotte was convinced she could reconcile a life of global adventure with a family. Adventures were all well and good, but having someone to share the experience beyond the old academic curmudgeons? That would complete the dream.

 

But meeting men on the road was a complete and total failure. The competitive nature of archaeology, trying to beat each other to the newest find, made a relationship nigh on impossible. So she’d taken a break from active field work and joined the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History, heading up the Asian and Oceania antiquities exhibits. For three years she’d been satisfied with the change of scene, a job she loved, and a fantastic boss in Pierre Chang. His son Miles had been a faithful friend, her constant wing man as she played the field.

 

And though she’d dated a variety of men, none quite fulfilled the requirements for husband of Charlotte Lewis.

 

The familiar inkling was filling her again, the desire to hunt for new treasures, to get her name back into the papers and the journals, to contribute to the field again. Yet she hadn’t found what she was looking for. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach over the last few weeks, a slow realization that maybe the career she loved and the family she wanted couldn’t be reconciled.

 

 _It’s not bloody fair,_ she fumed over the injustice of it all. _Not blood fair at—_

_Bow ties?_

No, her eyes had not deceived her. Somehow, the Neanderthals in the glass case had been equipped with spears, loin clothes, and tasteful red satin bow ties. And there was not a doubt in her mind as to who was the culprit.

 

“CHANG!”

 

An almost girlish giggle resounded as her friend emerged from behind another case. His face was flushed, and as he sauntered to her side, Charlotte instantly knew that he’d had more than a few drinks. He was followed by a second man, blushing red in embarrassment, likely because he had to be seen in public with Miles. Unconventionally handsome with a quirky sense of fashion, he seemed harmless enough.

 

“Heyyyyyyyyyy Red! Knew I’d find you here!”

 

She snorted, though her annoyance quickly gave way to a smirk as she watched Miles sway back and forth, arms flailing to maintain his balance. “I’m so glad you’re stalking me Miles.”

 

“You make it easy! Apartment. Work. Work. Apartment. Yup, real hard to track you down. Have no fear, though. We came to rescue you!”

 

“Rescue me? More like make my life difficult. I’ll have to fix that display before I leave tonight, no thanks to you. I should have your father confiscate your keys to the building.”

 

The other man, silent up until this point, blushed an even deeper red. “We… we could help you fix it.”

 

Miles rolled his eyes. “Aw, c’mon Dan. Charlotte knows it’s all just for fun.” He turned back to her. “Dan just went through a rough breakup. Bitch of an ex-girlfriend ran off with the lead singer of Drive Shaft. I’m trying to end the pity party. And seeing how you’re always up to your elbows in work here and are in desperate need of a social life yourself, I figured we’d bring you along with us.”

 

With each consecutive work leaving Miles’s mouth, Dan’s face grew closer and closer to the shade of a ripe tomato. It was really sweet, in a way. She smiled at him gently. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend, Daniel. Breakups are always rough.”

 

“Not that she’d know. Charlotte’s been looking for a stable relationship for years now. Pretty much since she came to LA.”

 

She felt her face flame, possibly even brighter than Daniel’s. “I’m sorry, did you say you were going out drinking, or that you were already drunk?”

 

“I’m pretty sure he had a few before we met up tonight,” Dan said quickly. “And he brought a bottle of tequila to my studio to pregame. _And_ we stopped at happy hour on the way over. Honestly, he may have sobered up since we got here?”

 

They both turned to where a hiccupping Miles was straightening the Neanderthal’s bow tie.

 

“Or maybe not. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”

 

The laugh escaped her, despite her embarrassment at a total stranger knowing her LA dating history… or lack thereof.

 

“Miles _is_ a shameful lightweight.”

 

“Lies!” Miles shouted, a look of mock astonishment plastered on his face.

 

“We should probably call a cab for him. Naomi’s going to kill his sorry arse.”

 

“Nah, it’s alright,” Dan replied, waving his hand. “We’ve already caused enough trouble for you tonight. I’ll make sure he gets home. If you like, I can come back and help fix the display.”

 

“Awww, leave it. It looks good! Very Christmay. Festive!” Miles protested. He leaned heavily against the wall, slumping closer to the ground each minute.

 

“I think I’m going to take Mile’s Martha Stewart impersonation as our cue to leave.” Dan smiled sweetly at her before hauling Miles up on his shoulder. For a lean guy, he was surprisingly strong. Charlotte knew from experience that drunk Miles was all dead weight.

 

“You’ll be alright getting him to a cab?”

 

“Absolutely.” He paused briefly, looking at her with faint recognition. Have we met before, Charlotte?”

 

Her words took him by surprise, but after a careful study of his face, she had to agree that he looked familiar. “Yes… yes, I believe so. Briefly. At the museum benefit? You were playing with-“

 

“Driveshaft,” he completed the sentence, a look of sadness crossing his face. “Backstage, right before we went on. The bassist was passed out on the couch. Who would have thought… ah well, live and learn, right? It was nice meeting you again Charlotte.” 

 

“You too, Dan,” she replied, watching as he dragged Miles toward the front door. Once she heard the tell-tale creak of the back doors echo through the hallway, she headed back to the Neanderthals.

 

Opening the display case, she heard footsteps behind her. “Still here, Char?” Frank asked, voice groggy from his midnight nap. His arms were crossed in mock dismay.

 

“Where else?”

 

“Oooh bow ties. Nice touch. Very classy. Who knew the Neanderthals were such fashionistas?”

 

Laughing loudly, she removed one of the bow ties and tossed it to Frank. “Since you like it so much…”

 

“Don’t mind if I do!” He fixed the bow tie around his neck, gazing at his reflection in the glass case as he straightened it. “Now finish up here and get the hell out, Charlotte. You don’t get out nearly as much as you should.”

 

“I will. Don’t you worry,” she promised sincerely.

 

_Just as soon as I finish these guys. And make sure that Miles didn’t destroy anything else. And read that journal article…_

Yeah, it was definitely time to get back in the field.


	3. December 22nd

**December 22 nd **

“Urgghhhhh,” Miles groaned. Head pounding, stomach swirling – this hangover was definitely the worst of both his life and afterlife. “Unfair, unfair, unfair,” he muttered, turning over slowly and pulling his pillow over his head.

 

He was dead, wasn’t a hangover overkill?

 

“I believe it’s called divine retribution, dearest,” Naomi mocked, crawling away from where she’d been spooned against him. “If you’re going to vomit, kindly do so in the bathroom.”

 

“Love you too Mi. Now you wanna tell me what the hell happened?”

 

“Well, genius, remember when you decided that, of all the possible ways to introduce Dan and Charlotte, a drunken hookup was the best?”

 

He nodded slowly, trying to judge how much he could move without hurling. Beneath him, the mattress rose as Naomi stood, sending his stomach spinning.

 

“Well, the only person that got drunk last night was you. Dan dragged your sorry arse back here around midnight.”

 

Sunlight filled the room as Naomi whipped the curtains away from the double window.

 

“ _Christ_ are you trying to friggen blind me?”

 

“Consider it your punishment for being a complete and utter wanker,” she snapped, sitting back down next to him. She slipped her hand into his. “You’ve got four days, Straume. What are you gonna do?”

 

She was quieter now, worry breaking through the tough façade she tried to maintain. Stretching, he tried to overcome the pounding in his head long enough to think clearly. He hated seeing Naomi like this. Quite frankly, it freaked him out.

 

“Well, tonight’s our regular night out with Charlotte,” he suggested.

 

“Any way we can get Dan there?” Naomi asked.

 

“We?”

 

“Yes, we. Clearly you’re going to need some help with this.” She smiled. “Now how do we get Dan to show up?”

 

“We don’t,” he snapped in quasi-frustration, feeling defeated. He did _not_ want to be left here without Naomi. Not after they had finally figured out what had gone unrealized when they were alive. “Dan’s got a gig—“

 

A thought hit him.

 

“Mi, I’ve got it. Tell Charlotte we’re not going to the usual place. Vincent’s on Fourth. Eight o’clock.”

 

OOO

                    

“You got everything you need, man?” Mike asked, placing a glass of water on the counter before leaning over the bar to shake his hand.

 

Daniel glanced over his shoulder, checking the stage one last time. Piano in place, stand light in working order, sheet music arranged in neat piles. “Yeah, I should be all set.”

 

“I really appreciate this, Dan. Since our old act backed out on us… and Walt’s been raving about you ever since that concert you gave at his school. If everything works out tonight, I’d definitely like to talk future gigs. If you’re interested, that is.”

 

Dan smiled as he grabbed the glass. "I appreciate it."

 

Returning to his piano, he glanced around the club. It was upscale, with circular, mahogany tables decorating the edges of a wooden dance floor. The mood was set by dimly lit, low-hanging stained glass lights. Like something out of a Studio 54 era movie, Dan could easily imagine the likes of Ingrid Bergman and Clark Gable drinking, smoking, and dancing late into the night.

 

It was the perfect venue for his first foray into jazz music. Classical would always be his first love – after all, he’d been studying it since he was a child. But he couldn’t resist the urge to diversify, to truly challenge himself, and the creative process imbued in jazz allowed him that. His first test subjects, a group of middle schoolers that needed an accompanist during their annual play, hadn’t run screaming in misery and horror, which he took as a good sign.

 

That was where he’d met Walt, who had mentioned his father’s club as looking for a new act. Two phone calls later and Dan had scored his first gig at Vincent’s.  

 

Sliding into the piano bench, he looked out over the audience. It was a younger crowd – mid to late twenties, business professionals who had the money for a nice night out on the town every now and then. Not the struggling, starving artists that normally frequented his gigs. He glanced around, looking for a familiar face. Dan had mentioned the gig to Miles, but knew that he was normally out with other friends tonight, a sort of weekly tradition.

 

Which was why, when the nightclub door swung open and Naomi and Miles entered, he was surprised. Naomi smiled – well, more smirked, but that was Naomi – and gave a little wave as she was ushered to a table. Miles, meanwhile, approached the bar, shaking Mike’s hand before placing his drink order.

 

 _Is there anyone he_ doesn’t _know?_ Dan wondered, still holding his minor lifelong grudge against his friend’s superior social skills.

 

With a laugh at his own ridiculous behavior, he responded to Naomi's greeting with a nod and launched into his set.

 

OOO

 

“Thank you!” Charlotte shouted into the taxi before slamming the door shut, wrapping her leather jacket around her shoulders to fight off the chill of the December chill.  

 

Served her right for not checking her voicemail earlier. She’d shown up downtown at their regular haunt, The Orchid, and waited for Naomi and Miles nearly twenty minutes, assuming that Miles had been caught on a 911 call. It hadn’t ever dawned on her to check her phone, where a message from Naomi had been waiting.

 

Slipping in the door, she handed her ID to the burly bouncer and scanned the tables for Naomi and Miles. She found them toward the front, their attention directed toward the stage, where a single spotlight illuminated a man playing the baby grand piano. An extra glass of white wine was waiting for her.

 

They knew her too well.

 

The man at the piano was slouched over the keys, eyes staring off into space, despite the sheet music that was propped up in front of him. A fedora was pushed low on his forehead keeping his face hidden, though his hair poked out the bottom. His hands moved quickly across the ivory, dancing as he seamlessly played the disjointed chords that somehow resulted in a cacophonous melody. Jazz wasn’t really her thing – she was much more partial to the old school rockers of the sixties and seventies – but thus far, she was impressed.

 

Reclaiming her ID from the bouncer, she moved quickly across the floor, hunching so as not to disrupt anyone’s view of the concert. “Hey! Sorry I’m late,” she whispered, sliding into her seat. Miles and Naomi smiled back, whispering their hellos in return.

 

“Why the sudden change?” she asked curiously. The Orchid had been their bar of choice for over a year.

 

The song came to an end before they could answer, and scattered applause erupted from those patrons not too busy chatting or enjoying their drinks to hear the music. Miles let out a loud whoop and started fist pumping, drawing the attention from all those around him.

 

 _He always has to be that guy, doesn’t he?_ Charlotte mused. She rolled her eyes, hissing, “It wasn’t _that_ good.” It was more to shut Miles up than anything else. In all honestly, she was really enjoying the music.

 

The pianist glanced in their direction. Surprise overtook her as she recognized Daniel, Miles’s personal escort from the museum the previous night. She felt her face burn, embarrassed at her comment.

 

“Be nice, Charlotte, we’re all friends here,” Miles shot back, sticking out his tongue.

 

Her only response was to raise a single finger in his direction as the next song started. Miles got the picture.

 

OOO

 

The last chord dissipated over the crowd, and one last round of applause emerged. He’d felt so comfortable while he played, but now that he was done, he felt like the awkward teenager he’d once been. He took a quick bow, awkwardly waving to the crowd as he made his escape. At the table, he saw Miles laughing, giving him two thumbs up and signaling at the empty chair. Striding off stage, he picked up a whiskey neat that Mike had prepared at the bar.

 

“Dude, that was fantastic!”  Miles congratulated him, slapping him on the back as he took his seat.

 

Naomi nodded in agreement. “Jazz suits you, Dan. Though you could have tossed in a Christmas song or two. It _is_ the most wonderful time of the year, after all,” she teased. “You’ve met Charlotte Lewis, correct? She works with Miles’s dad over at the museum.”

 

The sudden change in topic caught him off guard, and he realized he hadn’t noticed the third person sitting at the table. He smiled, trying desperately not to show how pleased he was to see her again. After loading Miles in the taxi the night before, he’d gone back and forth as to whether he should return to help her deal with Miles’s reign of destruction.

 

He’d taken three steps up the stairs to the museum, before balking at the idea. She’d already said she didn’t need him, after all. Who was he to impose his presence upon her?

 

“It’s good to see you again, Charlotte. How are you?”

 

Charlotte placed her wine glass back on the table, wiping a stray drop from her lower lip with the side of her hand and pushing her straightened hair behind her ears. In the dim light of the bar, it was a simple, yet shockingly alluring, action. “I’m well,” she replied. “Your music is wonderful.”

 

"Thank—"

 

The sound of glass slamming against the table interrupted his thought, causing him to jump. Across the table, he noticed Charlotte had too.

 

“I need another beer,” Miles announced loudly. Naomi was glowering, looking as if she was trying to choose between killing Miles now or inflicting a slow, torturous death upon him later.

 

“Well let me buy you a drink then, my dearest heart,” she said between clenched teeth. “Would you excuse us?”

 

There was utter silence, so he gulped at his whiskey to fill the void. Without Miles’s antics, and despite his triumph over the crowd at the bar, he felt his confidence fleeing. Before Theresa, he’d never been the most self-assured guy around women, and since his unceremonious dumping, it was even worse. Glancing over at Charlotte, he saw her eyes darting about, from bar to ceiling to floor and back to the bar, tilting her wine back and forth as the liquid got dangerously close to spilling over.

 

She felt just as awkward as he did.

 

It was a shocking realization, one he never anticipated coming to. Charlotte, he had unfairly presumed, was one of those girls who never lacked for something to say, who had control of any room she entered. He felt like an ass for making assumptions, and it gave him the courage to say, “At least we can always count on Miles for entertainment.”

 

 _Start small, start familiar. You just have to make conversation until those two come back. It’s not like this is a date or anything. This is just another one of Miles’s friends._ He sipped his whiskey now, hoping his mental pep talk would help.

 

Charlotte smirked. “I’m about ninety-eight percent certain Naomi is just as mental. She just hides it better.”

 

He snorted, whiskey shooting out his nose. Wiping the whiskey off his face, h glanced at Charlotte, expecting to see her walk away in disgust. Instead, she was gaping in shock, eyes crinkling as she tried to suppress her laughter.

 

“You did that on purpose,” he accused, tone light to ensure she knew he was joking.  With that, she broke down in hysterics.

 

“Bloody hell, I wish I did,” she shot back. Their laughter subsided and they were quiet again. “I really did enjoy your music, Dan. Miles didn’t say you were playing tonight, but I knew you were a classical pianist. It was unexpected.” She paused. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry. You play beautifully.”

 

Daniel smiled, understanding exactly what she was trying to say, despite her inability to say it. "Thank you. So Miles tells me you're an archeologist. Raid any good tombs lately?"

 

OOO

 

"Another round!" Miles demanded, giving Michael a cocky smile. "For little victories."

 

"Little is an understatement," Naomi muttered, slamming her own empty shot glass down as the whisky burned her throat.

 

Michael smiled, handing them another round. "I'm cutting you two off after this. You may have them speaking, but they still are living in an oblivious little fairytale."

 

Miles threw back the drink, rolling his eyes. If the two were super uncomfortable together, he would have known it. They would have found an excuse to join him and Naomi at the bar. Seeing them still sitting at the table, chatting comfortably across empty glasses, was reassuring. There was no doubt in his mind they were on the right track.

 

But just in case, he had a backup plan.

 

"Don't worry, don't worry. I've got it covered. How you feel about a double date tomorrow night, Mi?"

 

 


End file.
